Wishes Don't Come True
by Eveilae
Summary: [CHAPTER NINE] After becoming a fourth grade arsonist, Calvin and his family move away. . . without Hobbes. Years later, in a school complex nicknamed Ireland, Susie meets up with Calvin again. WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN NEXT? bad words, and major innuendos.
1. Prologue PART ONE

**Wishes Don't Come True**

**Prologue**

"It was Hobbes's idea!"

I think it was saying that that gave my parents the idea. It didn't matter to them that it _had_ been Hobbes's idea (kind of) because, well, by fourth grade I had realized that my parents did not see Hobbes like I did. I couldn't explain it then, and sometimes the explanation seems too convoluted even now.

They threw Hobbes away, you see. They didn't even try to help him. I don't even know where he went afterwards. He wasn't in the garbage. Fuck, if I had known _where_ I would have followed Hobbes there. Then again, with the supervision I was getting right after The Incident, I don't know if I could've.

I remember our last meeting like it was yesterday.

"Calvin, I don't know if this is a great idea. . ." Hobbes was hesitant about the idea now that the gas was in my hands and the matches were in my coat pocket.

"Hobbes, what are you, a wimp? I though tigers were vicious, fearless creatures!" He glared at him, daring me to insult him further. I decided that continuing would be against my best interests, so I changed the subject. "Everyone will _celebrate_ us, Hobbes! They will build great statues for us in place of this torture chamber! Even the employees will cry out in great delight. I mean, who would _want _to work here?"

"Especially with _you_ here." Hobbes rolled his eyes at him, and it was my turn to glare back.

"Just help me, okay?" I took off the lid of the gas container slowly, thanks to the difficulty of opening it. Hobbes helped me pour the gasoline around a bit, almost slipping several times as we traveled back to the doorway.

"Okay. Prepare yourself for a sight that will cause your eyes to implode with the beauty of it." I took a minute to image that image with pleasure, before slipping the matches out of my pocket. It took several tries with the first match before I broke it in half. Growling in frustration, I swiped the second match angrily. Perhaps too angrily.

Hobbes, who had been standing closely so as too not miss anything began to catch fire. I didn't notice as I hurried to the hallway before the match burned out. I threw it in. By pure luck, it didn't burn out by the time it landed on the ground. Bad luck, I suppose. It caught fire so much more quickly than I thought it would.

I kept moving backwards, step by step, more frightened now than excited. The fire was spreading so much faster than I had imaged, and the papers on the walls were turning black. That's when I felt the heat behind me.

"Hobbes!" I screamed. My best friend was rolling around, trying to stop the flames that were consuming him. I jumped him on him, not caring, or more likely not knowing, how dangerous what I was doing was. I caught fire so quickly.

All I could hear were my screams. If I had ever been clear-minded I might have thought of the Stop Drop and Roll rule they tried nailing into our brains each year. But, I was anything _but_ clear-minded. So I lay there, with the scent of burnt flesh greeting my nostrils.

I never saw Hobbes again. If a genie came out of a lamp I wouldn't wish my arms back to normal. I wouldn't wish the elementary school back. I wouldn't even wish the tears out of Susie's eyes.

I would wish Hobbes back.


	2. Prologue PART TWO

**Author's Note:** Oh! _Two_ reviews. Oh geez, if this is supposed to be a _happy_ story well then I'm screwed xD. But seriously, though. Calvin did some bad things in first grade. If he was that reckless then, how bad would be in _fourth_ grade? That's how I'm thinking of it, anyway. Thank you!

**Wishes Don't Come True

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**Prologue**

_**Part Two**_

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Why was my mother walking into the kitchen with Calvin's toy tiger in her hands? I suppose Calvin's mother thought that a woman with a child the same age as her son would understand.

God, _fuck that_, she _knew_ that I was nothing like Calvin. I was the normal one, the logical one. The only one who would listen to Calvin long enough for him to become insulting. The only that would insult Calvin back. Okay, maybe I was a _little_ bit like Calvin.

Anyway, when my mother came into the room, I immediately eyed the burnt toy in her arms. "Mommy, why do you have Calvin's toy? Why is he all burned up?"

My mom looked at me. I think when she explained to me in fifth grade that she decided to help people on a larger scale when she saw that documentary on Africa, I believed her. But now I'm not so sure. I think maybe when she saw what a mess people that are healthy and sane can become, she decided it's easier to help people whose problems are straight-forward.

Calvin's parents were normal parents. I mean, maybe his dad was a little eccentric, taking his family everyone summer on a trip that none but him seemed to end up enjoying. His mom was a little high-strung at times, but with a son like Calvin, I'm not surprised. All and all, I have no idea how they ended up with a son like him.

Maybe he was an undiscovered genius, like he said. Maybe he was misunderstood. Maybe he was totally off his rocker. I don't know.

But his eyes when he got into his family's car that morning were as child-like and innocent as any child's eyes I had ever seen before that moment, or have since. For a second he was just like me, and I felt his pain. Suddenly it was _my_ best friend who'd died. My arms that were scarred.

I was never the same again. I mean, I wasn't exactly 'normal' to begin with. Sure, I was more normal than Calvin had ever been, but my friends were few. I would enjoy the company of a book or my stuffed animals over the company of girl friends who would flop around, teasing me and torturing me in ways that only little girls can.

As soon as Calvin and the car he was in were out of the sight, I rushed inside, searching desperately for Hobbes.

I kept hearing a prayer in my head. _If you let me go on, I'll never tease him again. I'll never betray him! I'll renounce smoochies!_

As the words grew stronger, the more frantically I searched. But I could not find Hobbes. He was not in my room, nor in any of the garbage cans. Where was he?

_There is no God._

Those were the last words I ever heard Hobbes say. I think why I'm an atheist. It makes it real, somehow, hearing it so sadly from a stuffed animal at the end of its life. My mother said she threw him out, just to spare Calvin and his family the drama.

At six, I saw my mother as a murderer. Our mother-daughter relationship never did get much better.

I read as much as I could. With so much time on my hands, that was a shit-load of books. I read all kinds, romance, fantasy, horror, mystery, comics. Then in eighth grade I just got sick of it all.

Feeling like I had nothing to lose was the worst feeling in my life. It's sad, now that I look back on it, that what started my on my way to salvation began by me asking Greg Clark for a cigarette.

It got worse before it got better. I did it all, just to please my new friends. I dressed in black. I stole shit, I smoked shit, and I turned other people's things into shit. I fucked guys, and in doing so I fucked the future my mother and father had always wanted for me.

I thought they were the best days of my life. How the tables turn. I see them now as the lowest I ever got. I lost my dignity then. I lost my family's respect and I lost a whole lot of brain cells. After getting brought home by the cops for shoplifting, having my mother find smack in my room, and coming home drunk, my parents lost it. They were having nothing more to do with me.

My father decided to join my mother on her trips around the world, helping out as a doctor in third world countries. And there was no way they were taking me with them. So I was stuck at St. Brigid's School for Girls.

I packed up the books I'd stopped reading months ago, the music my new friends had introduced me to, the notebooks full of depressing, and shitty poetry, and Mr. Bun. Then I was gone. My parents were sad to see me go, I know this. I knew it then, too. It just felt better to feel that they were doing this to hurt me, that they didn't love me.

They loved me. But sometimes even loving parents need a break.


	3. Chapter One

**A/n:** if a make a grammar mistake, or a major character mistake yeah, calvin & susie might be OCC but i mean major mess up I won't get angry if i'm corrected. I tend to make them a lot.

**Wishes Don't Come True

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**Chapter One**

_**You laugh because I'm different. **_

_**I laugh because you're all the same. **_

_**They laugh because I'm really not.**_

"There's a new student in our class, children." I love the class, but hate the teacher with the intensity of a thousand suns. Any teacher that calls me child every two seconds is bound to get on my nerves eventually.

The girl walks in, and this being Art, and obviously full of guys who's goal in life is to be an angst-filled anarchists; mostly everyone turns their head to check her out. Even those who are halfway decent artists give her second glances.

Quite plainly, girls who try so hard to be different turn me off incredibly fast. They annoy me more than the people who try to be exactly alike. They say they are polar opposites of the monotonous _others_, yet do they _not_ see the monotony in themselves? Their complete obliviousness to how much I dislike them is usually another factor.

Her hair is long and black, obviously dyed. You can see a bit of her roots, and I roll my eyes when I see that her hair is a dark brown underneath the black. What was the point? Her clothes are the same exact tint as her hair, and her eyes are encircled totally with –hmmm, can you guess? –black eyeliner. Four strips of hair hang down in front of her eyes, which are looking at us angrily, as if daring us to laugh.

I have to cover my mouth to muffle the hoot that almost escapes.

"She will now introduce herself," the teacher announces pointedly, staring at the girl. Just waiting with that eyebrow raised for the girl to not say something. The girl didn't even look over at the teacher as she opened her mouth to speak.

Hers is the voice of a little girl who wants so badly to grow up. Unfortunately, I believe, that is the biggest sign that she still a child. One is only _really_ a grownup when they wish they were young once again.

"I'm Suzz. I'm my own person. I'm a rebel. And I like my secrets." She closes her mouth tightly, her gaze finally falling on the teacher. 'Suzz' isn't planning on 'introducing' herself more than that.

I feel my eyes inching to roll to the ceiling when I notice a lot of the guys are nodding in accord and approval. What a bunch of dimwitted, senseless knaves.

"Well, then, _Suzz_. Rebel all you like, _outside_ the classroom. In here, I am who tells you what to do, and unless you want out of this easy A class, I suggest be like everyone else for once." Now it's my turn to want to nod my approval. The look on Suzz's face when she realizes the teacher is _mocking _her is possibly the most humorous thing I'll see all day.

Suzz takes a seat next to Valeria, who is at heart a hopeless romantic who draws horribly wonderful images of love. On the outside, though, she is another Goth, who is dreadfully angst-filled and misunderstood.

I watch amusingly as Valeria tries to cover up her latest sketch with her arm. Fortunately for Valeria, Suzz is not paying any attention at all to her, or her drawings. Unfortunately for me, Suzz is staring right at me, a small secret grin on her face. It's a Cheshire Cat grin, I think to myself. It's the kind of smile that will mislead you.

It's a cat grin, which inevitably reminds me of Hobbes. His grins looked like those. I rub my eyes with my hands, feinting weariness. No one in this room has ever seen my eyes begin to tear, nor do I plan on ever letting them do so.

I frown at her, quickly, before I go back to my work. We're doing charcoal, and the mask on my paper is staring at me with an intensity I hadn't noticed before. Who is this Suzz, and why do I feel I know her?

I've never associated with a Goth before, so I don't know where I could possibly know her from. Maybe she used to go to St. Brigid's before? No, Mrs. Evans has been here forever and a half. She would remember her. _I _would remember her. I _have_ been here since fourth grade.

So who is she? I wonder to myself, as I lean in closer to my charcoal drawing. Shading always calms me down, helps me clear my head. But for some reason I can not concentrate on this and I growl lowly in frustration.

But I am in St. Patrick's after all. Mrs. Evans approaches me, but keeps her distance in case I'm in a livid mood. _Please_. I was never an idiot. If I ever acted out like I used to in Mrs. Wormworth's class, I'd be put in solitary confinement. Once in there had been _enough_ for even me.

"No, Mrs. Evans. I'm just . . . _frustrated. _The drawing isn't coming out right." I don't look up at her. For her age, she's a good test of character. The first day she'd met me, she'd noticed that my face is an open book. I don't like looking her in the face much anymore.

"Well, avoid making those noises, please. I do not want your frustration to be misunderstood. I dislike violence." Then she _really_ shouldn't be teaching in Ireland, should she? I do not say this out loud, though. That would be just _begging_ for punishment.

For the remainder of the class period, I make an attempt to ignore everything around me, and put all my energy into this project, which, unfortunately, is beginning to look to stupid. I wonder if I should change.

At least it takes my mind of that stupid Goth girl.

"Class! Begin cleaning up, please! And remember to bring in the slips and money if you're planning on going to MONA!" She waves a sheet of paper in the air. Everyone ignores her, or at least pretend to be totally disinterested. I feel into my backpack for the permission slip. It had come yesterday, with a apathetic letter from my father. He had signed the notice reluctantly. But at least he had signed it.

The bell rings. My eyes follow the Goth girl as she is approached by some Goth guy. He takes her arm, and she gives him a sly grin. By tomorrow, Suzz and Goth Boyfriend Ken will be making out behind the Lavender Building instead of coming to class. I convince myself I don't care.


	4. Chapter Two

**A/n:** Reviews are so yummy. Almost like yummy chinese food. yuumm Oh, and I'm adding this chapter while i actually have internet! Yay!! This isn't my favorite chapter. . .gak. But it'll do. Maybe I'll do it over. . .when I'm not listening to Fear Factory. Fear Factory isn't writing music xD

**Wishes Don't Come True

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**Chapter Two**

_**Don't hate me because I'm beautiful**_

_**Hate me because I'm going to die beautiful.**_

Who _is_ that kid? His blonde hair is hanging in front of his face as he looks up at me. I can't help but stare back. There is this tingling feeling in the back of my mind telling me I should know this boy.

But the answer to this pressing question is beyond my reach.

God, this teacher, I think to myself. She has the _nerve_ to ridicule me. In front of everyone in class, no less. But when Carl comes over to talk to me at the end of class, I realize that her ridiculing me brought me closer to all these classmates. They all hate her, too. Any person who is worth mocking is someone they can't help but like.

And by _they_, I mean the cool kids who sit hunched and shadowed in groups. Their wrists have scars on them, and they are like a shadow as they pass, so dark is their apparel. Maybe they coordinate themselves so to cover up their lack of fashion sense.

Either way, I'm dressed in much the same manner, so I can not complain.

"So, Suzz. Where are you from?"

I turn my head to look at the boy sitting at the table. I catch his eye again, and his eyes are dark. Image that, bright blue eyes so dark. It's almost emo enough to make me sick, and me a Goth!

"Oh? Nowhere important." I blow off the question. I like being shrouded in mystery, and this is one of the few chances I get to be mysterious. I mean, what mystery could there have been in a town where I'd lived most of my life?

He grins slightly, and his arm is suddenly around my shoulders. If he didn't smell so nice, I would push him away. He just _assumes_ I'm interested in him. The asshole. I don't say these things to him, though.

Instead I snuggle closer.

That night, I lay on my bed, wide awake. I hated the sound of night back home. I could hear the cars every two seconds, and the humming of the streetlights. Sometimes I would hear muffled sounds coming from across the hall. I always had to put on a CD, or I would never go to sleep.

Now, I'm listening to the complete silence of it all. I know I won't need my CDs anymore, but I'm still not falling asleep. This time, it's by choice. I want to climb out of my window and just wander, not hearing anything but the ringing inside my ears.

But since I am awake, I hear the tapping on my window. I sit up, for a second wonder how anyone could climb onto the second floor of my house. Then, the fact that I'm on the first floor of Sleeping Room One in St. Brigid's hits me. I curse, getting out of the bed and walking to the window. The other two girls I share this room with are still sleeping, thank god.

It's Carl. I shove open the window, grunting at Carl in greeting. "Come out, Suzz," he whispers to me, trying to subtly eye my bosom. I turn, pretending I don't notice, and sigh. I pretend to think about it, but I'm really wondering if it will just be him, or if his friends will be out there as well.

"Fine. Give me a minute to get dressed." I slip on a bra and I pull a large sweater on top of the shirt I was sleeping in. After a moment I decide to swap my pajama pants for black jeans. Ready, I return to the window, hoping it won't shut by itself before I return.

Once I've crawled out of the window, Carl takes my hand, pulling me towards the woods that separate St. Brigid's and St. Patrick's. I sigh silently in relief when I see that there are figures moving the shadows.

"Carl? Is that you?" asks a small female voice in the darkness. Her tone is worried, and she sounds hesitant. When he responds positively, one mutual sigh of relief rises from the darkness. "Thank god," a male voice says, as his body comes from the obscurity. Although, thanks to his attire, I still can barely separate him from the darkness.

"Is this your girlfriend?" Another figure questions from the shadows. I feel everyone's eyes on me, checking me out, critiquing my every aspect.

"She's hot," a voice answers, and several concur. I wonder if I should worry, or be relieved. As Carl slips an arm around my waist, I decide to be the latter.

The rest of the night is mostly enjoyable, although this is mainly because once I begin to ignore the voices of the others, I can hear the creatures in the night begin to wake. The owls hoot, uncaring of these humans stepping clumsily around their hunting grounds. I breathe in the clean air. It tastes so different from the air I'm used to. I feel if I breath too much of it, I will choke.

At last, people begin mentioning the time. We all murmur our farewells, and I add an extra one to the moon high in the sky. I want to say thank you as well, but that would sound odd to the others. Carl gives me a sloppy kiss before turning and heading towards St. Patrick's with the other boys.

I find myself in the crowd of Goth girls, and they're all as silent as I. I don't know if this is an act, or if they are really lost in thought.

"You don't talk much, do you?" A Goth, whose name is Mim, if I remember correctly, asks me gently.

"I talk if there's something I want to say," I reply curtly.

"There's no need to be snippy about it, you know," snaps a short girl who goes by the name Aria.

"Calvin was weirder than ever today," Mim interrupts, obviously wanting to stop the argument about to start.

"Calvin's the biggest pussy," Aria spats, saying his name as if it were a curse word. Her large boots thump on the ground, as if she wishes Calvin were below her feet and she could trample him.

"You only say that because he refuses to go out with you, Aria." This comment comes from Valeria, the girl I happen to sit next to in drawing class. A couple of other girls laugh at this, in accord with Valeria.

"That was a year ago! I've long since then realized by error in judgment. And by the way," Aria continues, her voice getting lower and slyer in tone, "_you_ are only standing up for him because you masturbate to him at night."

The same girls who had laughed with Valeria a few seconds before are laughing _at_ her. I can practically feel her face reddening. "Well, I can't help it if he's _nice_ to me. And I do not finger myself to him, or anyone else for that matter."

"She's too pure for the simple pleasures that fulfill the rest of us," Aria mutters to the other girls. Their laughter is beginning to sound canned.

"Aria, just-"

"Just what, eh, Valeria?" Her voice echoes through the field, and we all pause. I cock my head, hoping no one from the Sleeping Rooms heard. "Or are you too much of a _pussy_ to say it to my fucking face?"

"Aria, _drop it_." This is Mim speaking again, and her hands on pushing Aria away from Valeria. "Leave this for some other time. We all need rest."

Aria pushes Mim away, but she does so gently, and complies with her demand as well. "Next time you have something to say, Valeria, say it." With that, she grabs Mim's arm and they walks towards Sleeping Room Twelve.

Valeria flips Aria the bird behind her back and turns, making her own descent down the hill to Sleeping Room Twenty-Five. The rest disperse with this, and none of them say goodbye. As I crawl through the window in Sleeping Room One, I wonder who this Calvin is, and why he's such a topic of discussion with the Goth girls.

Pulling the covers over me, I smile as I hear another owl hooting. Then I close my eyes and leave my body for somewhere where I can rest.


	5. Chapter Three

**A/n: **This intro is from For Good in the musical Wicked hardcore shit people, check it out.

**Wishes Don't Come True

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**Chapter Three**

_**I've hear it said that people come into our lives for a reason**_

_**Bringing something we must learn and we are lead to those that help us most to grow**_

_**If we let them, and we help them in return.**_

We all crowd onto the bus, the voices of my peers mingling until I can not pick one out of the many. I pick an empty seat next to a window, and lay my hand against the cold glass. Running a hand through my hair, I hope the ride will be fast. I've been looking forward to MONA for weeks.

I close my eyes, and eventually the seat beside me is taken. I do not glance at who is beside me. I feel into my bag for my CD player, and I slip on of the earphones in to my ear. The music booms into my eardrum, and I wonder what kind of irreversible damage I'm doing to it, this very second.

"Hey." The voice near my exposed ear makes me jump away from the window, and my eyes shoot open. The newest Goth chick is facing me, her face almost contorted into a smile, if Goths are even allowed that simple pleasure. Why is she sitting with me, I wonder, the thought drifting lazily through my mind. It exits as smoothly and quickly as it came in.

"Er, hello." Having said that, I close my eyes again, and I return to my music. The girl seems to give up, and she doesn't say anything else to me the rest of the ride. Once we're out of the bus, my chaperone herds us all to the door. Unfortunately Suzz is in my group. Is she stalking me or something? Can I not avoid her?

As well as the Goth girl, there's a male Goth, some guy and some other guy. I dismiss them, and I wonder when we will get to see the dinosaurs. The huge dinosaur in the middle of the room we begin in is enchanting enough. I stare at it in wonder, and all my childhood imagings come flooding back to me.

I used to pretend I was a dinosaur. "I wonder if I'll ever find that Calvinosaurus," I mutter to myself, pretending for a moment things are how they were.

"And what would you do with such a discovery? No doubt make enough money to bully everyone into worshiping you." It's that girl again. I turn to face her, pissed off and ready to give her a piece of my mind. Anything to make her _go away_.

By the time I turn to look at her, I realize I can't. It's Susie Derkin. I can hide behind stupid ignorance all I like, but I knew from the moment I saw her that she is the small little girl that I would gross out with my lunch, throw snowballs at and tease incessantly.

I grin at her. I can't help it. I've been pretending all these years that things are still the same. It's as if God sent her to me as a sign. To show me things _are_ the same. Those would be good feelings . . . if I weren't an atheist.

"Why, of course. All those leaders, kings and presidents alike, were all leading up to me, after all. What, you thought they lived and died for the heck of it?" I laugh, and I feel good again. It feels good, to laugh wholeheartedly, something I'm not sure I've done for years.

She laughs with me. "It _is_ you! I. . .I knew I knew you from somewhere!" To moves towards me as if she's going to hug me, and I prepare myself for it. Hugs have been scarce for several years now. But at the last moment she looks over her shoulder, and takes a step back.

This small action is a dagger in my heart. A real, true reminder of the years we haven't been together. I haven't seen her since fourth grade! What the fuck am I doing, expecting her to welcome be back as if we're friends again.

The last time I saw her was . . . that day I left. That day I saw her cry. I find my chest aching as all the memories are coming back. Fuck, Susie isn't back as a messenger from God. She's here as a gift from Lucifer. She's here to make my life at school a Hell on earth.

"Hello, Susie," I answer simply. I can't think of a better response. Her eyes drop to the ground and the studies the intricate designs on the tiles on the ground carefully.

"Well, _about_ that Calvin. I don't go by Susie anymore. I mean, what sixteen year old girl with any sense _would_?" She looks up at me, as if fully expecting me to nod passionately in agreement. But my head remains still, and I shrug my shoulders instead.

"A sixteen year old who doesn't care what people think." The underlining insult is not lost on her; I can see it in her shocked and angry expression. Oh, the expressions on people's faces when someone is brave enough to tell them all about themselves. There's no beauty like it, not in Michelangelo's sculptures, not on Goya's canvas, not in Wilde's words.

Except this is Susie. The goddamn guilt. I give her a smile. But it's too late, and my mouth has once again beaten my brain in a race to the outcome. "Do you think I _care_ what people think? Huh? God, you think I'm some sort of _conformist_?!" She says conformist as if it's the worst insult a human being could ever utter.

"That's not what I said," I say gently, trying to fix this. But she's in a rage now, and for a second I can not do anything but look at her, and gaze in awe at how lovely she looks when she's angry.

"God, what are _you_? With your fucking drawings? I bet you think you're so much better than everyone else. I bet you go around saying, 'Don't label me, I'm not a can!' Well, guess what? That's what people do. It's what people are. Whether it's inbred or society, I don't know. But don't say I care what people think. I don't! I'm my own person, alright?!" She manages to say these things at a certain volume. No one three feet away would have understood a word.

I can help it. I can't hold it in. I laugh. I close my eyes and I give out a hoot. "I'm sorry; I'm not laughing at you," I gasp between chuckles, but Susie's not convinced. She glares at me angrily, and I know I've made things worse. "Okay, then. Prove to me that you don't care what people think!" As I try to silence my laughter, I strain to think up a way for Susie to prove herself.

"Ah ha! Recite dinosaur facts with me!" I say this proudly, glad to have finally found something torture her with.

"Oh please," she says, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. "How does that _possibly_ prove I don't care?"

"You have to say them loud and proud, luv." I watch her carefully, and though she tries to hide it, I catch how her eyes widen, just a smidge, as she realizes what she's gotten herself into.

"I can do that," her voice displaying courage her eyes don't seem to show. I grin at her and she frowns at me, her arms folding over the chest in a gesture that is the polar opposite of the hug she almost gave me. "Don't call me _luv_."

"Okay, _Suzz_." I almost laugh again, but I manage to smother it. I hesitate for a moment, but I quickly make a choice. I pull her to me with an arm around her shoulders. I feel her stiffen, and I almost pull away. But I manage to make her tow towards where the rest of the group is.

I feel a thump in my chest, being so close to Susie. But I've got to make it nonchalant. I mean, she does have a boyfriend. But it's nothing, I repeat to myself. I'm an old friend who's teasing her. Friends touch, it's impossible to prevent that. So why do I feel so chilled?

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**I'm getting writer's block already. I know what I want to happen next but I can't quite write it out. So if it take a _little_ while to get the next chapter up, you know why.**

**OH AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS even though it's not exmas, or hannakuh, or yule or. . anything anymore. . .oh well**


	6. Chapter Four

**A/n: **Song is Only Ashes by Something Corporate. Don't eat me SC haters!!! I'm sorry!!! melts Oh, and Lestat _is_ the sex. Do not argue. There is no argument to be made.

Oh & yes, Aria is a brat goth. She likes to curse to make herself seem cool. xP But she's so fun to write!

Last note: the grammar mistakes are abundant, I know. I'll try to go over my chapters & see if I can catch them. Sorry!

**Wishes Don't Come True**

**Chapter Four**

_**I can tell as you turn **_

_**I smell the sulfur so clear**_

_**And fire's a beautiful sound**_

I'm sitting in the common room, leaning on Carl, and pretending to be paying attention to the conversation. Aria and Lucie are arguing about whether or not Lestat is just about the sexiest thing ever to come into existence. I fail to see the point to the dispute, seeing as how Lestat is A) a vampire, so not _in_ existence, and B) a book character.

Aria sighs despairingly and throws herself back onto the couch dramatically. "None of you understand my undiluted suffering!" She turns her head to shoot Mim a grin/snarl. "Especially, _you_, Mim. I mean, any human being who finds Looois attractive in any way is off their fucking rocker!" She cackles manically, and jumps up again. She's in a good mood today.

Mim yawns loudly, and smiles slightly, as if in apology to everyone. "Sorry guys, she's been like this all day. Since about five in the morning."

"Aria is right for once, Mim," Valeria interjects. She doesn't look up as she speaks, but keeps staring at what she's sketching on the paper. Everyone turns to gaze at Valeria in barely concealed amazement. Valeria and Aria. . . agreeing? "Lestat is sexy. I mean, he's strong, smart, beautiful, etc, etc."

"And _eternal_." Aria adds dreamily, her eyelids fluttering prettily.

I twist my face inwards, burrowing myself in Carl's chest. This conversation is stupid and pointless and. . . I wonder what Calvin is doing. The little angel on my shoulder pinches me, and guilt runs through me. It doesn't feel _right_ to be thinking about Calvin (even though he's only a friend) when I'm in Carl's arms.

But yesterday had ended up being more enjoyable that I had expected it to be. Who knew that dinosaur facts were so fun? Calvin beat me, of course. He had matched every fact I knew with three more. I hadn't felt that energetic with something educational in a long time. I missed that feeling I used to get when I came home with good marks.

Our group seemed to have dissipated, though, so Calvin's test was failure. Anyone who might have told Carl how I gripped Calvin's arm when I saw that giant sperm whale about to eat a squid had ditched the group for a better experience.

"I didn't see you yesterday, Suzz." It takes me several seconds to understand that Valeria was talking to me. I reluctantly lift my head from Carl's cigarette smoke smell.

"Were you expecting to?" I keep my voice and face blank, hoping to. . . well, Gaia, she isn't going to bring up questions I don't want to answer.

"Yeah. I couple of us ditched the trip and headed around on our own." A grin splits open her face, and her expression seems grotesquely twisted. "Almost got caught, too. But you weren't with us? Were you inside or something?"

Carl lifts his arm from my shoulder and holds me an arm's length away, a questioning look on his face. "She's right. Why didn't you ditch?"

I have to work even harder to feel my expression blank. I feel like I'm the edge of laughing just at the memories. Either that or crying from this pressure. Calvin had been as strange as I had remembered him- but that wasn't the matter at hand, was it?

"I was . . . walking around with the group-"

"But surely you must have noticed-"

"-with Calvin." The silence is absolute from the whole group. Well, for all of five seconds.

"Calvin?!" Aria screeches, and launches herself onto the sofa I'm sitting on. I raise my arms to cover my face and protect myself from her assault. No attack comes, though, and I peek through my lowering arms at her.

She isn't about the hit me. She's staring at me intensely. She perches herself on the sofa, like a gargoyle up on a church steeple. Her eyes are frighteningly lovely once you stare at them long enough. They look a normal brown at first glance. But they are sharp, and they cut through my outside appearances like knives. I feel so exposed, so naked, being stared at so openly.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I can not stand this silent interrogation, and I push myself up, glaring at Aria angrily. My hands are balled up in white fists, and I can not for all my self control stop myself from shaking. "What do you think you are, physic?!" I turn around to look at Carl. Oh god, does he think. . .?

He's staring up at me in disbelief, his carefully outlined eyes just confused, and an eyebrow raised. "She's crazy, Carl," I manage to gasp. I'm losing my cool because some girl _stared at me_? God, I'm as bad as she is. I steal a glance at her. She's still perched there, a stone monster only contained by the light of day.

I walk out of the common room, my temper flaring. Why should I have to defend myself, just because I was hanging out with Calvin? I'm only allowed to approach Goths? No. Calvin's words keep popping into my head. He thinks I care what people think.

He's the first person to ever say that to me. He hadn't said it straight out, but I know that's what he meant. Everyone else in my life had always congratulated me on my individuality, so that I had just assumed they were right. Why did _one_ person's opinion change everything?

I'm outside now, and I have to squint for a few second to get used to the sun in my eyes. It feels like summer, but I'm wearing my long sleeved black turtleneck. I frown, wondering why I even dared to put on such a thing in this weather.

The grounds are empty and I'm glad. I don't feel like talking to anyone. This Calvin business has turned me upside down and I need some time to sort it all out.

I sit myself down under a tall tree. Buggered if I know what it's called. Maybe Calvin knows, I wonder, my thoughts once again slipping to the scraggy boy. Calvin always seems to know stupid, trivial facts no one seems to know, or care, about.

Stop it, Suzz, I scold myself. I need to look at the situation for an aloof point of view.

Fact number one: Calvin was a little weirdo- okay, not being aloof, Suzz.

Fact number one: Calvin was strange and delighted in teasing and grossing out S- The Subject.

Fact number two: He would not be separated from his toy tiger, named Hobbes.

Fact number three: In fourth grade he burned down the elementary school. He was sent away. Hobbes was scorched. It feels to The Subject that he- _it_ has died.

Fact number-

"Fuck!" I cry, standing up again. "This isn't working!" I lean against the tree, holding my face in my hands. God, I'm probably smudging my eyeliner. I feel a hopeless feeling making my heart sink, and I let my arms drop. I suppose I should head to my room. Sitting with nature hasn't balanced out my tortured spirit. Maybe sleep will.

What _about_ Hobbes, I think for the first time. Hobbes was Calvin's life, once upon a time. How long must if have taken Calvin to get over Hobbes? I mean, he was as attached to the toy in fourth grade as he had been in first. But no, I don't want to think of the tragic ending of the nearly realistic toy tiger.

While walking into my dorm room in Sleeping Room One, I notice a small paper taped hastily to the door. I have to lean forward to read the small, cramped, letters. It doesn't help that they're going every which way, as if the writer is doing it on purpose.

It says Susie. I rip the paper off the door as I look around, even though I know this floor is deserted. I enter my room, stepping lighter, perhaps, than I usually might have. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I open the fold piece of paper silently, and I read the contents.

_I saw Susie sitting in a show shine shop. Where she sits she shines, and where she shines she sits._

"Huh?"

**A/n: is scraggy a word? WORD IS MAKING MY LETTERS ALL CAPS FOR SOME REASON. and its not caps lock. doesn't matter.**

**Thank my speech teacher for that lovely tongue twister.**


	7. Chapter Five

**A/n: **Ahh, Guys and Dolls. Yep, the lyrics are from that. and the end was a bit rushed, sorry. I wanted to update. Perhaps i will write the next chapter over the weekend. thank you all for the reviews.

**Wishes Don't Come True

* * *

**

**Chapter Five**

**_Suddenly I'll know when my love comes along  
_**_**I'll know then and there  
**_**_I'll know at the sight of her face  
_**_**How I care, how I care, how I care  
**_**_And I'll stop, and I'll stare  
_****_And I'll know long before we can speak  
_**_**I'll know in my heart**_

"Speech enunciation." I sigh. God, the English language is not something I've ever had the urge to study in such detail. Even if the teacher makes a sad attempt to make us energetic about it by giving us tongue twisters to take a crack at. That might have worked if I was about, say, eleven.

"I saw Susie sitting in a shoe shine shop. Where she sits she shines, and where she shines she sits," I mutter to myself. I realize the trick in it as I say shit instead of sit. I chuckle to myself. Whoa, she has gone to a new low, has she not? Trying to bribe us with curse words.

Susie. I let a gentle smile cross my face. Susie. What a surprise it is to think that I might actually have a friend in Ireland. . . a good friend, at last. There are close acquaintances and then there are friends.

I look down at the paper in my hand. Why not, I think to myself. I gentle rip a piece of paper out of my notebook, and I copy down the short sentence. "It's worth a chuckle, isn't it?"

I begin to rethink my decision as I amble ungainly towards St. Brigid's. I mean, what, just because we _used _to know each other? She, more likely than, has not as no intentions in remaining friends with me. Wait, I think as I stop in my tracks. Oh god, can it be?

I am experiencing teenage angst.

I take out my handy, dandy inner mind notebook. Dear Calvin, It seems teenage angst has at last caught up with me. I believe close observation is in order. I must keep a record of my progress through this most unlikely of obstacles.

I walk more energetically towards St. Brigid's. One must not shirk from responsibility. I must live through this era of teenage angst so as to be a shining example of how to defeat this crippling point in time.

Perhaps I will write a book. Or perhaps not. I'd never overcome my lack of laziness enough to finish it.

So I'm on my way to Susie's room. And I don't know in what room she's in. Crap. I look around semi-carefully. I mean, I will get penalized if I get caught. Aw, hell, that's half the fun. It feels wondrous to be this bad again.

I open the large door of St. Brigid's main building. I make sure I have a confident posture and I sure expression on my face. Damn, I _am_ out of practice.

"Hello, I'm here to give something to, um," I pretend to be nervous. Well, actually, I'm nervous as hell, and I'm not as well prepared for this shock into the world of lying as I thought I would be. So why not act like I feel for once? "Susie? Susie Derkins." I look up at the secretary with a happy look in my eyes. Look at me, lady, I'm so out of it, I get glad when I remember what I'm supposed to be doing! Pity me, I'm practically crying.

And she does pity me. With a gentle smile, and a slightly bored look (as if she's done more of her share of dealing with kids 'like me'), she nods. "Well, I can't let you in the Sleeping Rooms themselves, but I'll deliver the letter."

I nod hastily, my eyes wide with excitement and my inner self cackling at how easy this will be.

"Now, don't you want your name on this?" She asks, looking over the piece of paper I hand her. I shake my head as violently as I had nodded it.

"No, it's not from me. The name's inside, I guess." The woman raises her perfectly outlined eyebrow at this.

"Did someone _trick_ you into doing this?" By trick, she means beat or threat into doing this. I don't want an investigation to come out this.

"No, no. I'm doing this for a friend. He's a-fraid!" God, playing this cute little retard isn't the most interesting moment in my life. In fact, I can do without ever doing this again. I want out of here before I run into some teacher who _will_ recognize me. "Well, tata. Thanks lots for the help!" I smile, showing all my teeth, and straining my jaw.

I walk out of there, fixing my walk into a short of waddle, like someone who's never quite gotten the hang of walking. It's a damn long walk to the door.

As I walk back to the St. Padriac with a fulfilled air. Susie is definitely a good influence on me. I feel almost like my old self again. Except- I feel that empty tinge whenever I feel like this. Because when I was like this, I was always with-

Hobbes. No, I'm not thinking of him. That's one experiment I'm never attempting to write down in my inner self notebook.

**

* * *

**

It's art class. Why is Susie sending me eye hellos? Doesn't she realize her boyfriend (which I have little doubt he is by now) is staring? Oh my god, my life is turning into those shows that make the girls crowd around the TV sets in the Common Rooms.

It's quite a love triangle. Perhaps I'll drawing such a triangle from our ink project.

She pinches my upper arm while I'm my way out of class, back to St. Padriac's. "Is this yours?" She shows me the sheet. It has a little piece of tape half ripped from it, and I read over the short tongue twister, pleased.

"Perhaps," I answer lightly, handing back the paper. I might have said more if I had not been suddenly and rudely interrupted by none other than her boyfriend.

"Susie," he begins roughly, gripping her arm possessively. Susie leans into him, as if his manner were lovingly and not jealous. "Uhh, I think we should, er, go to the woods. I'll bring some. . ." Carl seems to be having a hard time improvising. I almost giggle at his expression.

"-blankets?" Susie takes pity on the poor boy and finished his sentence for him. In Carl's eyes I catch a flicker of excitement. Oh god, does Susie know what she's getting herself into?

Susie grins as she turns around in his embrace to give him a peck on the lips. Nothing surprises more than watching her casually, well as casually as you can do such things, grab his crotch in what looks like a pretty tight grip. She pulls herself out of his arms before he can get another hold on her. As she walks down the hall towards the door she gives me a sly look and an evil grin. No, no no! Those are _my_ trademarks.

* * *


	8. Chapter Six

**A/n: **_so sorry for lack of updates! _I have been on a _lets download anime and watch it_binge. Forgive me. Song is Maria, which is a Blondie song. One of my favorite Blondie songs. xD

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**_Ohhh, don't you want to take her?  
_**_**Want to make her all your own?**_

His face when I grabbed Carl's crotch was priceless. I was right when I supposed that Calvin still saw me as a little girl. Well, he won't now.

But I haven't even though about Carl, have I? All that had been running through my mind was Calvin, Calvin, Calvin. Oh god, Carl will think I wanted him that badly.

Well, I did kind of want to get to the point.

Hopefully he hasn't assumed I'd want him for his intellect. I'm a sixteen year old girl. I'm not out looking for a big brain. That day in the woods, I'd hinted that I thought the night was much more romantic, that I loved with my ex-boyfriends to stare at the stars while lying in their arms. He'll come tonight to my window, I know it. Why not take advantage of his misunderstanding? I go to bed wearing a tight tank top and a pair of cute leather pants I keep for occasions like these. As I slide into bed, I wonder if these pants are being wasted.

Not that Carl isn't sweet, in his own sheep-like way, but I know from past experience, I can do much better. I've got out with guys with far better hairstyles, for one.

I'm on the edge of sleep when I hear the light tapping on the window. I yawn, and I rub my eyes with my hands. I remember a second too late I'd heavily outlined by eyes with eyeliner before bed. Fuck.

I motion for Carl to wait, and I wonder if I can get to a bathroom to fix my makeup. Probably not. I won't be taken for a girl with the need to take a piss with this outfit on. I decide that it's too dark for Carl to notice anyway.

I fluff up my pillows and I crawl out of the window. Immediately I regret my decision to not fix my eyes. Carl is staring at me strangely, but I pretend not to notice. "Hello, darling," I purr, as I kiss him passionately.

Well, Carl is an adequate boyfriend I suppose. But not only can I do better, but I want more from a person than I ever expect him to give me. And when we slept together that night, under the cover of the stars, I had never felt more alone in my life.

I suddenly felt all the weight of everything I'd ever done on my shoulders. All these years I'd tried my best to be Miss Bad-Ass of the Year, and at that moment I felt as if I had wasted every single second of those years.

Before everything had started I had dreamed of changing the world. Forget that, I had _expected_ to change the world. I wanted my life to be filled with things that were meaningful. Yet, here I was, fucking without feeling, pointlessness in every aspect of my life. I felt wasted, used by life, or my lack of it.

Afterwards, we dressed quickly, without speaking. I didn't want to talk to Carl. There were no answers he could give me, no reassurance, nothing. Also, the lack of conversation would make what I knew I had to do much, much easier.

"Carl," I whisper as he turns to leave back to his own dorm. I cannot stop myself. I have to have some sort of closure to this night, as meaningless in the long run as I know it is. But there's nothing for me to say, and the two of us know it. Carl waits for me to speak anyway. "Good night."

"'Night." Then he's off, and I'm alone. I start through the small forest towards St. Brigid's.

* * *

"What's the point, Calvin?" I ask, my back flat against a tree trunk, painting my nails a light shade of grey.

"Of what?" His hands are busy sketching something in that notebook of his. He refuses to let me catch even the smaller glimpse of it, a strange action for this new him. The old Calvin would have only hidden something because he was trying to show it to me.

"Of life, Calvin." I don't look up at him, because I'm afraid of his expression. Ever since that bus trip, I _know_ he's been giving me those pity looks. He _pities_ me. Which pisses me off and makes me sad at the same time. As much as I don't want to admit it, Calvin's opinion matters to me.

Except it doesn't. _So_ doesn't. Times a million.

"I wasn't aware there _was_ a point." I want to look up at him, except I'm not going to. Haha, stupid Calvin. I bet he _wants_ me to look up at him. He's probably staring at me, waiting for me to look up. Well, too bad, I'm not going—

I look up. Only to see he's still sketching and hasn't lifted his head at all. Oh _damn him_. Angrily, I respond, "Of **_course_** there's a point. Idiot." Back to my nail painting. Don't look at him this time.

"Then why'd you ask?" How did he ever manage to get so damn _mellow_? He used to be the insanely energetic, incessantly moving child. Where the hell did that kid go?

"I asked what the point was, not whether or not there was point! Get your facts straight." I feel guilty immediately. I shouldn't have yelled. It's just his simple, calm answers annoy me. Is this how he felt when I was a smart-ass in elementary school?

"Fine? You want my answer?" He's looking up. I can feel it. Haha, it's time for my sweet revenge. This is what he gets for not looking up when I thought he was going to! I giggle inwardly, and carry on painting my nails coolly. "Well, I'm not talking to your hair, you know. If you're not ever going to give me a glance, why should I give you my answer?" Damn him and his infernal logics. _I_ was supposed to be the logical one, damn it!

I look up, and I glare at him. "Fine, then. Talk." I put the top back on the nail polish bottle, and cross my arms, waiting expectantly for an answer.

My sudden attention seems to shock him into temporary silence, because he just stares for a couple of seconds. He blinks some, and then opens his mouth to speak. "I think that there is no point. There's no god or goddess to appease, no heaven to reach for, no salvation for any of us. We just try to live our lives as best we can, because, well, what else can we do?"

What else can we do?

"But if there's no salvation, then what's the point? Why try to help people? Why work to make things better in the world if they're all going to die anyway? We all die, so what's the point of living?" I lean forward, my voice choked with emotion, and I'm scaring myself. I had no idea these thoughts had been so tightly wound inside me.

"What's the point of breathing in if you're just going to breathe out? What's the point of eating your favorite food if it's going to be finished? What's the point of kissing a beautiful girl if you're just going to break up?" Calvin's stopped drawing too. He closes his book gently, and places it down on the grass quietly, along with his pencil. He crawls over to sit next to me, but he doesn't say a word. He's waiting for my answer, isn't he? Well, I don't have an answer. I don't know why I do things from day to day, much less why I do things in general.

"I don't know," I whisper, unsure if he even heard me. I cover my face with my hands, breathing in deeply to calm myself. Why am I letting myself get all worked up over this?

Then I feel his arm over my shoulder, light but there. I don't want to move in case he moves it away. It feels . . . _nice_. I get a warm, twisted feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it aches gently in a lovely fashion.

Move, Susie Derkins. You've done things far more daring than leaning into a guy. Why can't you do this?

Because it's Calvin. It's that constant bother/reassurance and if she tries to change what they've managed to gain again, it will be at what cost?

I feel him moving, and my stomach begins doing gymnastics. Oh god. He's leaning forward. Please, don't do it Calvin. Please.

I feel his breath on my ear, and he whispers, low, so low—with his voice sounding so odd now that's its so close—"Susie, you think too much." Then he gets up—which means he moved away, which is a _bad _thing, I mean, good thing, _good_ thing—gathers his things, and walks off.

I hate him. He always has to have the last word. He thinks he's so superior.

But even as he walks away, I can't help wonder what would have happened if had stayed.

* * *

**Dun dun dun.**


	9. Chapter Seven

I've been on an anime OST spree. Much love to those CDs. Lyrics are from the opening of Ghost In the Shell: Stand Alone Complex,by Yoko Kanno and performed byOriga. Sorry for the wait.

anonymous: It's okay if you think I ruined Calvin and Hobbes, no need to apologize (although it did make _me_ feel better). I _might_ be bringing Hobbes back, I'm not sure myself. Sorry if you're disappointed, though. Although I've always thought Calvin and Susie are just _destined_ to be forced together by insane fans, haha.

Thanks for the reviews! MUCH LOVE.

* * *

Chapter Seven 

_**I am Calling Calling now, Spirits rise and falling  
**__**Soboj ostat'sya dol'she...  
**__**Calling Calling, in the depth of longing  
**__**Soboj ostat'sya dol'she...**_

Susie Derkins. As much as I was the odd one as a child, she is now. If it makes any sense, she used to even me out, just a little bit. Or at least, she always gave me someone to compete against, so I wouldn't implode out of boredom.

Why was she asking me those things? I ask myself, as I sit in my desk, pretending to concentrate on the teacher's rambling lesson. How long has Susie concerned herself with the point of life? Isn't that a suicidal thing to dwell on? Hopefully she isn't suicidal. I'll have to make a mental note to remember to ask her.

"Calvin?" The teacher looks up at me. I stare back blankly. I don't even know what we're doing, much less what I should answer. She taps the paper in front of me, and says kindly, "Number six, please."

Six. Six. Ah . . . "Pourquoi est-ce que vous allez a la gare?" I say this all with a heavy American accent, but I grin at the teacher gently to soften the blow. She smiles back graciously, and continues on with a nod of her head. She's not that bad, even with her cigarette smell. She tries hard to become friendly with the students without completely losing control of the class. And, as a bonus, she doesn't mind when I don't even make an attempt at a French accent.

Back to Susie—no, you know what? Fuck Susie. Why do I need to think about her more than necessary? I take out my little inner mind notebook, and scribble down an update.

_Dear Notebook. I've been seeing Susie quite regularly, as friends. She's been on my mind, possibly because of the outburst yesterday. Study further. –Dr. Calvin_.

That didn't help, I think hopelessly. The rest of period slides on slowly—sooo slowly—and by the time the bell rings I was ready to jump up and run out of the room with or without the bell's permission. I leap out of my seat, and rush through the door, out into the hallway where a throng of people is pushing itself down into classrooms.

I expect to make it to my next class without incident, like I do every other day. Unfortunately, today isn't my lucky day. An arm grabs hold of me as I walk past, pulling me back into the wall. Ow. I look to see who is responsible for such a latent lack of respect and I see that twit of a boyfriend—Carl.

"Why, hello there, Carl. How are things in _your_ life? Mine was going rather well until you decided to barge in and--" I'm cut short by a fist in my stomach.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing with my girlfriend?" His face is blurry in my eyes, and I try standing up straight, but he pushes me back down. Come _on_ can't anyone see this?

Haha, I almost start laughing when I think that. Please, I _know_ that everyone can see me. This is just so terribly common that no one cares enough to bother anymore. Eventually a teacher will pass and grab up bother, sending us to speak of our punishment with the headmaster. But as of yet, no one has come by. So I'm left at the mercy of Carl's angry fists. One of the said fists slams into my side.

"I asked you a goddamn question, asshole." I grunt in response. Carl really isn't the sharpest knife, is he? How can I be expected to answer when he's punching the air out of my lungs!

"I said--" Carl is lifting his fist for another hit when I jump up, painfully, and push him into the wall.

"I heard you," I hiss, holding him tightly against the wall. "First of all, I wasn't do _anything_ with Susie. There's a little word called friends. I don't know if you and your angsty group know the word, really. Secondly," I let a little grin grow on my lips, and I stare at Carl's surprised expression in amusing. "If _we_ were doing something, why the blazes do you think I would _tell _you?"

Once again, I'm on the ground, and Carl is standing above me, panting in his fury. "You _piece of **shit**_." I feel the pain my torso, but I disconnect myself from it. Oh shit. I shouldn't have let my mouth have a turn at the mic. I could be bleeding internally.

"Stop it!" Why is Carl telling himself to stop? Has he gone temporarily mad? Well, that isn't a good enough reason to be beating me to a bloody pulp.

But he's not anymore, is he? Well, it seems I'm getting pulled into an upright position, so it's not likely he is. I open my eyes—one doesn't seem to like me this very moment and refuses to—and I see him being held back by—

Aria?

And here's me thinking she hates my guts. When she seems to see me staring—in what I hope looks like confusion—she glares at me, which seems to back up the whole she-hates-me theory. We've got history, her and me. It's my hormones' fault really. I mean, for all her faults, she's pretty—what's a tasteful word for this? You know what, screw _tasteful,_ behind the heavy makeup and bored expression, she's hot.

So when she began coming on to me, what, you'd think I would turn her down? Insert a diversion in opinion on _several_ matters and an argument on how she pisses me off, and you get . . . well, this, I suppose.

So then why isn't she persuading Carl to beat me harder?

Then Mim comes up from behind her, and it all falls into place. Mim is the kind of considerate sort of girl, who likes everyone—and vice versa—and is accepted into any group without prejudice. Why she's so close to Aria—of all people—is beyond anyone insight. Also, while we're on the subject of inexplicable things, there's also the question of why Aria listens to Mim as she were her puppy. Aria being the puppy, not Mim.

But at that moment, I'm not extremely concerned with their odd relationship. I just want to get as far from Carl's fists as I can.

I grunt, and I begin moving away from the scene. Maybe they won't notice . . .

"Calvin?" Mim's voice sounds rather shrill, and I turn around, internally wincing and cursing at her for noticing me at the completely wrong moment.

"Yeah?"

"What's going on between you and Suzz?" Suzz? Oh yeah, Susie. I should tell her I fucked 'Suzz's' brains out the night before just to disconcert her. I find myself hating that innocent and kind look on her face, as if she's some sort of saint. Isn't homosexuality a sin? There won't be any Saint Mim's Church, then.

Well, then again it's just an assumption, but . . . why else would Aria follow anyone else's orders? She's not the real loyal type, as I've found out the hard way. And the look in Aria's eyes when she looks at Mim . . . it reminds me of the way she used to look at _me_.

Whatever, it's no business of mine who Mim allows to let into bed (I'm once again speaking on assumption, mind you. I do not follow Aria around, in a sad, pathetic attempt to find out what her sexual tendencies may be).

"Going on? Are you asking me if I've made a pass on her? If I'm warm for her form? If I've hit on her? If she's hit on _me_? If—" I would have gone further and watched with extreme amusement as Aria explodes from annoyance, but Carl tries to pull himself away from Aria. I've got to hand it to Aria. She's can have a strong grip if she really wants to . . . but even she seems to be straining to keep Carl away from me. I decide that it would be smarter for my self-preservation if I were to shut up. Around now. "Nothing's going on," I reply simply, staring at Carl straight on.

I may be scared shitless of being beat up, but I'm not going to put my pride at risk. Especially when there's a good chance Aria won't let him hurt me . . .hopefully.

"I don't believe you. I've seen you two together. You guys don't look too unfamiliar with each other!" Carl snarls at me. I think back carefully at our last few meetings. Well, had we behaved differently than two old friends might? I can't image so. Except for the fact that we've kissed—haha _as if_! 'Suzz' has changed in some ways—okay, in many, _many_ ways—but not towards me. She still acts like she knows best . . . but she's not nearly as holier-than-thou than she used to be. After all she's the 'bad' one now.

"Would you rather if the two of us had at least three miles in between us at all times, Carl? Are you an_ idiot_, Carl? We're friends. We're not unfamiliar with each other because we've known each other for years. And what are you, her personal protector? If she wants to cheat on you, you beating me up probably won't _help_ matters."

Carl rips himself out of Aria's grip, and flies towards me, an enraged expression on his face. "We'll see about that!"

"Carl!"

* * *

"Calvin!" Susie cries out as soon as she sees me. "What the hell happened to you!" 

I shrug nonchalantly, but in wince internally as my back seems to creak. Ow. "I fell down the stairs?"

"Right, Calvin. Like I'll believe that one." She lifts up my chin with a hand, and I raise an eyebrow in response. What the hell is she _doing_? Playing nurse? Isn't she a bit old for those sorts of games? "Who beat you up?"

"No one beat me up. Even if they had, it wouldn't be _any_ of your business," I retort defensively. I don't need her to go all protective on me. I have my pride—however will hidden it may be, it's there. Anyway, I don't think she'll respond well if I tell her her boyfriend beat me up.

"It was Carl wasn't it?"

Crap.

* * *

**Shorty chapter, huzzah! Do I know any other kind?**


	10. Chapter Eight

**A/N: I thank all the reviewers. I've never gotten so many reviews for a story, so thank you. I'm sorry for the wait, but I haven't really had too much inspiration lately. I need to pick up one my sister's calvin and hobbes books and read through it.**

**I think Susie has had a weird character dip in this chapter, I have no idea why. Star wars, maybe? Is she joining the dark side! Don't ask.**

**For all those who asked me to update soon, well, I UPDATED.**

**The song is End of the Line by Murder by Death. It's not as dark and metal as it sounds. It's rather instrumental, actually. Think cello instead of guitar. Check them out.**

**WISHES DON'T COME TRUE

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**

**Chapter Eight**

_**The wait, it is over  
**__**This bottle is done  
**__**So we clench our fists  
**__**And fight our demons**_

"It was Carl, wasn't it?" My hands are placed over my hips in a stereotypical female posture. I immediately cross my arms instead. What am I, his mother, after all?

He looks awkward, and bites his lower lip. He never had trouble lying to me _before_. Well, actually, he did, but that was usually because he couldn't keep a straight face.

"No, it wasn't." At least some things _never_ change.

"I'm not _stupid_—"

"I know **that**," he interrupts, with a grin. Stop trying to change the subject, Calvin.

"Look, why would you even protect Carl anyway? I'm going to break up with him soon anyway, isn't it better that know I have a good reason for it?" It feels odd to say it so bluntly, but it's true. I know that I'm not going to last another week with him, and that he'll probably say I used him for the sex. Well, I suppose I kind of did. He'll call me a slut, but I think we'll eventually go back to being friends. I mean, it's not like either of us _feels_ anything for the other besides lust.

I don't even think I believe in love anymore. I used to lie on my bed, and wonder if my parents really loved me. You know, the usual angsty teenage crap. I'd convinced myself that they wouldn't miss me if I died, that it would be better for them if I ran away. Blah, blah, blah, bullshit, bullshit, BULLSHIT.

But now I find myself wondering again. I mean, I know they care about me, but I wonder if it's just parental love, which is practically mandatory. If they met me on the street, would they dislike me? I think they would. They love me, but they don't really like me. I don't even think they like each other.

They would fight a lot, back when I was home, but I guess a lot of parents fight. Most parents fight. Sometimes they would be all right, and joke around, and make me inwardly sick with their open displays of affection. But then there were other times, when my father would get angry at my mother, when he was just go on and on cursing and such, with me in the backseat, or upstairs, covering my ears with my headphones and pretending I couldn't hear them. Or my mother would get exasperated for some reason or other, and just linger with her annoyed feelings hanging over her, silent but all too present.

Or I would get caught smoking at my window with my torso (clothed in a low-cut spaghetti strap) hanging out of the window. The scenes were rarely pretty at my house. Both my parents showed their disappointment rather openly.

"Look, I mean, he's an asshole, but if you're happy, I'm happy. Or at least reasonably content." What _is_ this, some shitty romance novel? If you're happy, I'm happy? I open my mouth to tell him so, when he glances up at me. Shit.

He actually looks hurt. And not just physically hurt, because that much is clear as day. His lip is slipt, with dried blood still crusted on it. There are bruises lining his face and arm, and that's all I can see.

Did he _really _mean what he said? Is he unhappy because _I'm_ unhappy? Holy shit, what is this? This relationship is on the verge of becoming too much for me. I need a little bit of space. I feel as if I've crowded him a bit too much already. I've said things that I should have kept silent, unmasked myself for the first time in years.

"I'm breaking up with Carl anyway. We fucked." I didn't mean for it to come out like that, really. I think what I wanted to go for was _shock_. Well, his expression looked shocked. And more than a little disgusted.

"You . . . what?" I'm not going to cover up what I said; I'm simply not like that. I'm not going to say it shyly either. I was raised to believe that sex is a natural thing, not some taboo subject.

"I had sex with him."

He doesn't answer for quite a while. Well, _good_ fucking job, Suzz. You've scared off just about the only person that will probably be willing to be a real person in front of you instead of some kind of clone.

"Oh."

He excuses himself, and walks off. I can't think of a single thing to say to him that won't sound stupid and pathetic, two things I've never been. So I let him leave.

But I'm going to get Carl for trying to obstruct whatever Calvin and I have. I know it was him. He seems like the sadly protective type. And who else would have a reason to hurt Calvin? Well, actually, seeing how I haven't been here a terribly long time, I wouldn't know if anyone had a grudge against him.

But Calvin had admitted that it had been Carl, anyway. And that was the only reason Carl would have for hurting Calvin. Onward, then. I'm going to kick Carl's ass, whether Calvin wants me to or not. If he was serious about the whole _you're happy, I'm happy_ garbage, well . . . kicking his ass will make me _very_ happy.

* * *

"What?"

We're back in those little woods, and it's night again. I had mentioned in passing that I wanted to see him again, same place, same time. He had probably assumed I wanted to get laid, as I had hoped. I cross my arms over my chest in an obvious motion of impatience. Is he especially _thick_ or something?

"I just said it, but if you've suddenly gone deaf or something, then I'll repeat myself. I want to break up with you."

His brow furrows and he still doesn't answer. My god, what is he, _stupid_? This is starting to annoy me. With all the boyfriends I've had, the ones that deny what I'm saying are the ones that irritate me the most. So, Carl is one of _those_, then? I'm going to have to be rough with him then.

"Look, you were a good fuck, I'll give you that. But I'm interested in more that. You're a pretty one-sided person, when one gets right down to it. You're not especially smart, or especially handsome, or especially _anything_. You're a bland boyfriend that I won't even remember a few years down the road. So why waste anymore time on you, is my—"

I really don't expect the fist. This isn't the masochistic society it once was—though no one can argue that it's not a masochistic society in essence. But I've never been one to stand abuse, be it physical or verbal. There have been a few who've tried it, but . . . it's not like I loved them, or felt the need to cover their asses.

"You try that again, Carl. Just try it." I realize my small stature, my thin arms and poor hand-eye coordination. But I've got one _hell_ of a grip.

His eyes look furious, almost as if they're on fire. My cheek still burns, like those eyes. But I'll be damned if I'll allow myself to be blistered by that fire. He rushes towards me again, and his lips move, like he's trying to yell words at me without his voice. I reach out my hands, brushing his fist aside as I do so.

I wrap my thin hands around his throat, and I _push_. I hadn't realized how angry I was until I pushed.

He had hit me. He had _hit_ me. He had hit _me_. No one hurts me, not anymore. I'm not the same little girl that cried when Calvin left. I've changed, I've gotten harder. Maybe that means I can't let people in as easily, but it also means they can't even _scratch_ at my interior. And this idiot's tried to harm me.

Oh, he's paying for it.

I ignore the small noise he makes as I press my fingers into his throat a little deeper. I like this feeling of power. If I really wanted to, I could probably kill him. It's not that I particularly want to; after all, one hit isn't worth his life. I'm not deranged. But it's the idea that I can.

I've never felt like this before. All I've never had going for me has been my brains and my looks—at times. Those things give me some semblance of power over another person, but never like this.

I let go of him before my fingers start to cramp.

He's gasping for breath on the ground, and I'm just staring down at him. I carefully check my expression, making sure it's blank as a slate. "I warned you, Carl. Don't fuck with me." I walk off, with that said and done.

Power. I think I like it.

* * *

He's twirling a curl of my hair around his finger.

"Why'd you dye your hair?" he asks lightly.

We're lying next to each other on the grass, staring up at the sky. His notebook is lying next to him, abandoned for the moment in exchange for my hair. It's been a week since . . . what happened, and our bruises have faded . . . on the outside, at least. I think Calvin's pride might still be a little sore, and I know my self-respect has definitely lowered.

I shrug, "I think it looks better black."

He laughs. "That's stupid. It's just a bit darker than your natural hair color."

I frown. He's going to start with this again? If I like my hair this way, I like it this way. He's been trying to get me to wear some lighter color, like blue or green. I've refused so far. "Forget about it, alright."

We're silent for a little while after that. His finger is still swirling my hair, though, occasionally brushing my scalp as I look up at the clouds. I point my finger in the direction I'm looking. "Do you see that one cloud, right there? It looks like a pencil, y'see?"

He squints up at it, his finger slowing until it almost stops. "It looks more like a pen—"

"Calvin! Shut the hell up, you perv!"

"You're one to talk." He leans over, his mouth mere inches from my ear. "Slu-u-u-t." I know he's teasing, and I elbow him in the ribs in response.

"I'm not enough of a slut to do _you_, you weirdo."

He laughs again, lying on his back once again. "Good. I have to uphold my image as the dictator-for-life of G.R.O.S.S."

"Nice acronym."

"Nice hair."

I twist my head and bite the finger that was still swirling my hair. "Drop that goddamn subject, damn it!" We end scuffling gently, grass getting in my hair, and green stains accumulating on our clothing. We'll mostly on his, because my outfit was black, black, black. We break apart, grinning and panting. The feel of his hands on me is still tingling on my skin.

Calvin stands up, looking into the trees, as if he heard something. I glance over in the direction of where he's staring, but I don't see anything. "What is it?"

After a moment or two, he answers in a low voice. "Someone's crying."

I get up, knowing without him having to tell me that he wants to check it out. But we don't get very far before someone comes out of the trees' shelter.

"Get the _fuck_ out of here, you two. I don't need an audience, alright?" Tears choke her voice, and she looks smaller than usual.

Aria.

* * *

**Susie is scary. I hope I never meet her.**


	11. Chapter Nine

**_I don't own Calvin and Hobbes. I don't own SLC Punk._**

**Thank'ee all ye reviewers. I loooove you!**

**BTW: Banana Peel – Sure, you can do what you like, as long as you give me the credit.

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**

**Wishes Don't Come True**

**Chapter Nine**

_Nothing.  
__Miles of nothing, just space.  
__You could fall in and never come out._

Aria? What the hell?

"Aria?" Susie is stepping towards her, carefully and such.

What in the world would make Aria cry like this? She's the tough as nails bitch that everyone admires as much as they fucking want to kick her ass. Why is she crying, then?

"Get the hell away! Suzz, you're just some nosy bitch that I don't want near me, not for even a second." Her voice sounds cracked and sore, and it hurts my own throat to hear it.

And I've got a hunch. It's not an amazingly insightful hunch, but as hunches go, I like it.

"It's _her_, isn't it? Mim?"

"Mim can go and suck my fucking cock for all I care! Get the hell outta here, Calvin, you _little_ shit." Her words are crude, like always. I never expected otherwise, really. Not from Aria. But this is like super crude. It seems I was right, and I don't know whether or not I'm glad about it.

Susie shoots me a confused glance. "What are you talking about, Calvin?"

Suddenly Aria's out of the woods, and she's knocked me off my feet. "You shut up, Calvin! You little shit, just shut up, shut up, **shut up**." She's punching my face, and I have more proof how fucking tough she's tried to make herself. I suppose her theory was if you're strong on the outside, you must be strong on the inside.

I manage to push her off me, the blood spilling into my mouth, through my lips. Instead of helping me up, and asking if I'm okay like a good friend would, Susie's straddling Aria's hips, punching her like there's not tomorrow. "You don't fucking _touch_ him, bitch. You. Don't. Touch. Calvin." I see red, and I think _oh shit_.

"Stop, Susie!" I'm pulling her away, even though my leg is sore from the fall. The two of us fall away from Aria, breathing hard. I don't even notice that my arms are around her, and that she's sitting in my lap. I just watch Aria, the tough as nails girl, the feminist bitch, the hardcore Goth who is rumored to be a moshing _queen_.

She's sobbing into her hands.

"Mim. She . . . she said she loved me. I really thought she did." Aria slams her fists against the grass, and she looks like a child throwing a tantrum. The tears are like black streams down her cheek, and whenever she runs an arm across her face her black, heavy eyeliner smears all the more. She also looks the saddest I've ever seen her, and she's been her nearly as long as I have. "And then she goes off and _fucks _that sick _bastard_. He hits her, you know. He used to, when they were going out. And then the two of them broke up when he found himself another girl. And then she came to me, and I thought she was _mine_. Mine, y'know, the one person that really liked the bitch I am, the fucking _dyke_ I am."

Susie's mouth is open in shock, I can tell, even from behind. "You're _gay_? Mim's _gay_?" I squeeze her midriff soundly, trying to get through to her that this _isn't_ the time for these kinds of comments.

But Aria's too enveloped in her own grief to care. "I found her fucking him! In our _bed_, no less!"

I pull Susie off me gently, and I approach Aria. She's a like rabid dog you've got to be careful with, in case she bites you. "Aria," I coo. She's still sobbing, not completely playing attention to me. As I place my arms around her shoulders, I hear her breath hitch.

"Calvin?"

"Shh," I hiss quietly, patting her on the back as I do so. "It's okay. If Mim did this to you, she isn't worth your tears."

Instead of answering, she sinks into me, and I feel so _motherly_. With Susie behind us, I hold her until her sobs are merely sniffles.

* * *

Ever since that day it changed from Susie and I, to Susie, Aria and I. Now I could badger both Aria and Susie for their black clothing and hair, and their thick frowns.

It was good. The Goths looked at Susie and Aria like a Catholic priest would look at a devil worshipper that had gone to his church as a child. But it was good.

"You know, why aren't you guys going out by now?" The three of us are lying on our backs on the grass, like we do _too_ much of the time. The heavens are completely gray, thanks to the clouds that are teeming in the sky. No clouds to argue over today.

So instead, Aria has decided to harangue us.

"Whatcha mean, _together_?" Susie sticks her tongue out in her general direction. Then, she grips my hand in hers and hold it up so Aria can see. "Are we together now?"

"Don't get fucking smart with me, Suzz." She kicks Susie in the shin and pouts. I know she's pouting by the low squeak she lets out. It her Pout Noise, and we constantly tease her about it, which only causes her to pout some more.

You see, the tough as nails act she put on was merely that in the end, an act. Growing up—or at least spending eleven years—with an alcoholic and quasi-abusive father doesn't make you prom queen, soccer kid, normal consumer clone material, you know? So she put on the act of being tough, but she, like everyone else thought tough exterior means hard interior.

I guess she's finally figuring out its not quite so.

I mean, look at me. I'm the weakest shit you've ever seen, but shoot me a friendly glance, and I'll be scaring you off with my evil eye in a second. I don't like people getting in. Which was one of the most surprising things about this whole _friendship_ I have with these two girls. I let them in. After years and years of crying and hardening, I let them in.

I hope to fucking god, they cut their _nails_. Stupid _cat_ women, those two.

"Why don't we leave?" Aria's speaking up again, but her voice is no longer light, and teasing. She's dead serious, and Susie and I don't even need to glance at each other to know it's a sitting moment, not a lying down moment.

"Where would we go?" Susie asks, the voice of reason, as always.

"Who cares?" I ask suddenly, jumping up. "This place is eating at us! I've been here years and years and years and I simply want to _die_ just so I can get away!" The two girls look up at me in surprise. I don't think they've seen me this energetic before.

"Let's do it, then." It's a whisper, but it feels like more. Like a promise, of sorts. Susie looks right at me as she says so, and I remember back to the first time I saw her in Ireland. She walked in, all bitch and black on the outside, but soft and lost on the outside. Her hair so black, and but on the inside she's as pink and red as the rest of us, with our organs and such.

Was it that moment I secretly realized how my mortal enemy had become so beautiful despite the weights she placed down on herself? Or maybe she's like this because of the shit she became. I don't know. All I know is that at this moment, I wanted to pull her lips to mine more than anything else.

But I didn't. Because despite the shit Aria gives us about how much we secretly want each other and probably sneak away just to make out (or make love, depending on how many curses she feels like using that day), I would never dare. Susie is my best friend, and if I were to kiss her, I have a strong hunch it would all fall apart.

My hunch worked pretty well last time, didn't it?

"Seriously?" Aria squeals, sitting up at least. Her eyes are wide and excited as she gazes at Susie.

She shrugs nonchalantly in response. "Why not? It's not like we're not smart enough. We have a little misunderstood genius in our midst, after all." She elbows me light, and I blow her a raspberry back. Cause and effect.

Aria grins, her little Cheshire cat grin, the one that makes me feel unsure about this whole plan right away. This is the grin she puts on when she's going to try and shove drugs and alcohol down my throat, or something. It's not a _good omen_ grin. Quite the opposite. It's a _something wicked this way comes_ grin.

Shit.

* * *

**Yes, yes, I knowith. No update in a while, and then a shorty chapter. Sorry, but I've gotten taken with **_Two Swans_** and **_Flipped._


	12. Chapter Ten

_I do not own Calvin and Hobbes or Fight Club._

Author's notes can be foundin my profile (I refuse to play around with the link here, fuckin' formatting). Isincerely suggest you read these notes, especially if you haven't read **1984** or **Slaughterhouse Five.**

* * *

**Wishes Don't Come True  
Chapter Ten**

_Why did I cause so much pain?  
__Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?  
__Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love?_

First I'm hot, and it's burning, but then it's cold, freezing like lying snow for hours. I can't feel my toes.

"Susie, Susie, are you awake?"

And then I am, and I sit up suddenly almost afraid of what's going on. "W-what?" I'm lost in transition and there's an apparition . . .

"Suzz, girl, it's just us." My eyes grow accustomed to the thin light spilling through small, high windows. I can vaguely make out an outline of Aria's big bob of hair, black curls mussed from sleep. There are Calvin's worried eyes, gazing at me steadily from my right side.

It all comes back, like a huge wave hitting me dead on from behind. We're not in fuckin' Kansas anymore, but there's no Toto in sight, and no fairy tale castle to flee to.

We left school, but it's a blur right now and I don't want to separate the darks from the lights so I just shove it all into the dark cavern which is my memory and I let it all blend together, white fading into red and green leaking into the blues.

Right now all that's important is the thin blanket we bought at a convenience store and the bundle of clothing we're using as pillows. And the warmth I felt just minutes ago when Calvin's arm had been wrapped warmly around my waist and Aria's legs had tangled with mine.

"Fuck. Sorry, I was . . . man, I'm hungry. What's for—" Aria cuts me off with a hand on my thigh, and I close my mouth with a snap. She is looking at Calvin, and I turn. He's going to say something, isn't he? Something important, another wave just heading towards us.

"I think we should go back."

* * *

It was freezing that first night. This was an empty house, and breaking into it wasn't as hard as one might have thought. We tried to avoid spending much of day there since noise would attract unwanted attention from the neighbors. 

Aria had slunk off to get us a thing or two to eat, even though we'd taken care to eat and eat during dinner. It was Calvin and I, in the dark, unfamiliar house where every shadow could be a demon, or at least a police officer, unwanted but—

"Susie, you alright? You seem a little weird . . . D'ya wanna go back?" Calvin was being uncharacteristically caring, like he'd head back into that hellhole he absolutely abhorred just for me. I didn't believe him. I didn't _want_ to believe him. If I did that would change how he thought of me, and how I knew he thought of me and . . .

"No," I hissed and turned away from him. I'm not good with change, and this was huge. Not just the relationship Calvin, Aria and I shared now, but the fact that I couldn't understand the rules anymore. I need rules, like Calvin needs chaos and Aria needs appreciation. Even as a Goth rebel, I had rules. Black, frown, rebel. There were lines you didn't cross and taboo.

Where's the rulebook now if I don't even know what I am anymore?

There was silence until Aria returned and Calvin and her filled up silence with mindless debate.

So it goes.

* * *

We forced ourselves to find things to do, places to hide out. We couldn't very well roam the streets without attracting unwanted attention. People would begin to wonder what three teenagers were doing out of school for days on end. That's how we found the bookshop, tucked into a neat little corner. 

It was small and owned by man that reminded me creepily of how imagined the man who'd own the junkshop in 1984. A small old man, his hair graying even as his eyebrows remained black. His eyeglasses were smudged with ink and his voice was soft as he greeted us politely. "Are you here for something, or just looking around?"

I shivered. That was how the old man had greeted Winston. Was this prophetic? In the end, the proprietor had betrayed Winston, hadn't he? I told Calvin and Aria I didn't want to stay here anymore, but they both brushed me off. Their eyes and attention had been caught by different things and I no longer had any hold over them.

What else could I do but watch helplessly as we spent day after day in that store? I flipped through book and after book, realizing with a shock that I hadn't read a book in ages, not _really_ read it. Soon I was flying through David Copperfield and Fight Club like there was no tomorrow and I finished Slaughterhouse Five and Suicide Casanova before the week was done.

The old man didn't seem to mind. That made it worse. Some days it took everything to not ask him if he had a room he'd let us rent. I'm afraid of what he might say. My imagination's never been one to compare with Calvin's but it doesn't take much creativity if your books are coming to life.

Then the sun would begin to set and we'd exit, occasionally with a farewell to the old man, usually without. We'd walk back to the house, taking different routes and sometimes even splitting up. We felt safer together, though, and there was nothing the three of us wanted more than safety.

During the night we'd talk and sleep. Sometimes just me and Aria, or Calvin and I, but usually all there of us. We'd talk as if we actually knew things, as if tsunamis and hurricanes and murderers were something we were familiar with. We debated the meaning of anarchy and freedom and truth, but no matter what came out of our mouths we always ended up under that green blanket, our toes clenched against the cold and our bodies pressed together, our minds on anything but dicks and tits.

And then we'd awaken and I'd happen all over again.

So it goes.

But no one's died.

* * *

I don't answer for a minute. The question of _why_ finally slips through my lips, almost by accident. 

Aria frowns and shoots Calvin a pointed glare. "I want to know the answer to that, too."

The worst thing is I already know. Change is to Calvin, as approval is to Aria, as rules are to Susie . . . There's a pattern now, with the bookshop and the old man that was too much like traitor and buying Chinese food at the store down the block. I'm not surprised that he's tired of it.

Me, on the other hand, I'm just getting my rulebook out. Calvin and I are polar opposites in this, and in so much else.

Aria just goes along with everything, like she always has. If both Calvin and I want to have some Italian food, she'll wholly agree with us, without quite knowing why. That's just her way. She's the ideal consumer. We need her as much as the economy does, though. We need her bitchiness and her aggravation and her surprising chariness. We need those rare smiles and . . .

Calvin sighed, and raked his finger through that blond hair that hadn't been brushed in forever, but he liked it like that. "I dunno, why, but . . . man, I feel like shit now. Like I've let myself down. What the fuck are we gonna do livin' in some abandoned house 'til the ends of forever? Che, I know this isn't what I want outta my life."

There was silence, and Aria and I didn't know how to answer. I'm so smart, but I don't know what I'm doing ever. Sometimes I'll go to sleep and wish I'll wake up someone else, like during bed I got on an airplane and now I'm flying away from myself.

Sometimes I wish I could forget everything I know and just . . .

Just feel. Just let someone touch me and give in to that feeling, the sensation of skin on skin and . . .

Not sex. Sex is sex, in and out, well-placed moans and passion, and it goes out of control until it ends and then you're left there riding out the waves with a surfboard you don't like.

So I reach over and pull Aria in my arms. I don't kiss her, because that's not what I need.

I want . . . I don't know what I want. Aria's arms around my waist, and I close my eyes, the aroma of dirt and paper in my nostrils, but I don't smell any better. "I don't know anything anymore."

And Calvin doesn't touch us, but his presence couldn't be closer. "I don't think any of us do. That's the problem."

There's sleep, eventually, but for the most part Aria just holds me, so unlike her. She's letting me in, letting me come closer than anyone but Mim had dared approach. Calvin throws the blanket over himself and pretends to sleep.

I'm wrong. I do know two things:

Calvin. Aria.


End file.
